Doubts
by Missmishka
Summary: Agron wrestles with grief for Duro's death, regret for the lie he has told and what he is made to realize that he feels for Nasir. Arcing from 2x03-2x05. Rated for language, no explicit slash. Agron/Nasir


**_Doubts, by MissMishka_**

DISCLAIMER: The usual warnings, I claim no ownership of these characters, they are simply borrowed with love and adoration from the original creators to have their stories embellished on a little more than the show may do. Not for any profit.

Author's Note: This was originally intended to be a look into Agron's thoughts in that brief scene from 2x03 "The Greater Good" where he's sitting alone, back against the wall, seemingly removed from the actions of all around him. It grew from there, though and jumped a bit to a different end than planned.

* * *

Time quickly approached for them to be gone from this villa, off to Vesuvius on the course plotted so carefully by Agron.

He watched them all in the hours after last meal; observed the various interactions of those yet awake as they spoke in quiet tones, fought or fucked with little regard for audience. This should be a time of celebration for him; having succeeding in finally dissuading Crixus from his selfish mission to reunite with the slave girl, Naevia.

Instead he missed Duro in this moment and turned his head to the empty space at his side where his brother should have been. He craved distraction from thought, but there were none to offer it.

Spartacus would have spared his ear, but he had no desire for the Thracian to know the turmoil of his mind. Their leader favored his council on weighty topics and he could not show weakness that might have his opinion put aside in favor of that fucking Gaul; especially now that they were set on a path of Agron's choosing. Were he ever to confess to the other man the seed that had grown to this discord within him it was unlikely Spartacus would support the duplicity involved for the better of their survival.

In this moment he is made to realize that he is truly alone in this foreign land he had been brought to. He had fought tooth and fucking nail; performed act and asked favor best put from mind to assure the Gods kept Duro with him through the rigors of the slave trade until they found purchase by the house of Batiatus. They had fared better than many others in that regard, but it had proven for naught when the fucking fool put himself in path of Roman blade to see Agron's life spared.

A lifetime of looking after his brother ended in a single thrust of blade.

Spartacus had given him direction for venomous want of vengeance, but the wound of such loss still festered. He preferred to put his might to protection of those he cared for. He wanted none of the hatred that spread darkness like poison within his mind and spirit.

Duro was not the root of his brooding thought, though.

Dark eyes haunted him. The expressions upon Nasir's face throughout the day wreaked havoc on any hope of peaceful slumber.

They shared a connection; he and the newly freed slave. Brothers lost to acts of Roman rule, though Nasir held no recent or clear memories of his long gone sibling.

They had shared a moment in that instant after the Syrian had saved him on the roadside.

The other man's expression had been so awkward in the instant after Agron had complimented his strategy. Nasir had not had nearly enough time to learn the German's humor and perhaps the former body slave had not seen cleverness in thoughts of fucking a man from behind. As always, though, Agron's grin had caught on and those unbelievably soft looking lips had curled to smile at the levity.

Amusement had fled quickly from mind once eyes were drawn to that mouth.

Agron's thoughts had gone unbidden to the idea of Nasir fucking a man, fucking _him_ from behind in a scene far removed from the skirmish in those woods.

Duro would have known what to say to such thoughts. His brother, in just one of the many acts Agron had chosen to overlook in their lives, had felt no shame in taking cock to mouth or ass. He had tried to explain the visceral pleasure of the act when his elder first caught him at it, but Agron had played their father and absorbed not a word of the kid's avowals.

Never before that all too brief moment had Agron felt a want to explore such a thing for pleasure. It had been a degradation forced upon him and an outlet for pent up desire when no other option was present in the past, but he had never _wanted_ a man before that moment.

Then the fucking Roman had spoken to reveal that he yet lived; offering secret of Naevia's fate for safety and the accord he could have had with Nasir was altered.

He knew the young man had been eager to retell the others what the soldier had said before Agron silenced his Roman tongue forever, but Crixus's demand for speech had left an opening of silence that the German had not hesitated to fill. From that instant on, the light in the Syrian's eyes was shadowed with guilt and doubt whenever it rested upon him.

Agron fucking hated it. The look, the necessity of the lie and the withdrawal of the other man from him.

He was not without conscience over his own actions. Loathe him as he did, he would wish upon no one the grief Crixus had been forced to express in public over a loss so private. Agron would admit that he had perhaps misunderstood the true depth of feeling the Gaul to be capable of, but the damage had been done and it was best for to put thought of the woman behind them.

But he knew Nasir had taken no comfort in Crixus's speech in the courtyard. All were on board for a march to Vesuvius, but Agron was allowed no sense of triumph.

He needed to turn his thoughts to warfare and building ranks for their rebellion, but such was not the will of the Gods for his mind.

Knowledge that Nasir was not fully with him plagued Agron and he knew of no way to bring the little man back to him.

He was not overly surprised when day came to shed light on his deception. Agron wanted to find fault in Nasir for confessing the truth to Crixus, but he could not. The Syrian still struggled with the weight of sword in hand to slay the like of Romans that had enslaved him; a heart as feeling as Nasir's could not be asked to bear such a burdensome lie about the fate of a woman.

Setting path from Spartacus was not a decision made lightly and the remembered sting of his friend's palm to cheek would burn long in Agron's mind, but the fault was his own.

The price nearly paid for his arrogance in assuming a lie to be better than a life would forever haunt him.

He had thought there no greater hurt than Nasir's turning from him to join those headed for the mines. In his anger, he had left them to their fate with little more than a thought to the Gods that they had best see the little shit through the fools' errand.

Then he had found the survivors in the woods near Vesuvius and gotten weak smile from the paled lips of a fading Nasir. The shaft of pain and fear that had pierced his heart in that moment concerned Agron but was put immediately aside at concern for the Syrian.

Death loomed over the wounded man who had always before seemed to glow with life and vitality. He knew not how to fight such an enemy, but fight it he would if Nasir showed any signs of losing the battle himself.

While a litter was made to transport him and before the Syrian lost consciousness, Agron allowed all the will of his being to shine from his eyes and locked gazes with the other man. Dark lashes had blinked apart to return the intense regard with sleepy confusion, but it mattered little to the German if Nasir was fully aware of the emotion he sought to convey. It only mattered that he somehow told the man to fight the fucking fates if they would see him to the Afterlife at this time. Words could not be found for Agron's bumbling tongue to utter such an order, though, so he gave instruction with his eyes. In return he got a weak nod and reassuring grip of Nasir's hand around his own.

Naevia had proven herself blessing and curse to Agron's fate, much as he had been with hers.

Were it not for her Nasir's wound would not have been tended with any chance of healing, but if it were not for her the Syrian would not have been diverted from course to Vesuvius with Agron. But if Agron had not borne false tongue regarding her fate perhaps a mission to the mines would have suffered lesser loss, yet Spartacus was not wrong in his assurance that their losses could have been greater if the followers had not divided in destinations.

The will of the Gods was not for mortal man to understand and the contemplation of such thoughts consumed Agron until a strong hand slid beneath his jaw and gentle fingers touched his cheek.

"It is difficult for one to sleep with the wheels turning so within your head. Cease their racket and join me or find purpose elsewhere for your energy."

At the bidding of those words and that touch, Agron's head lifted to find Nasir awakened. He had twisted upon the slab to face the German at his bedside and the effort clearly pained him. The color remained faded from the Syrian's golden features, but never had Agron seen a more beauteous sight.

Fingertips skimmed over lips that Agron could not cease from grinning with the joy that flooded him, but before he could find his tongue to reply to the other man, Nasir's sudden strength fled and he fell back upon his bed. The hand dropped from Agron's face and he immediately suffered a chill at the loss of the warmth offered by such a touch.

He reached for the slack limb, putting the unconscious man's hand back to his cheek.

It was not the same without Nasir's strength and life behind the caress.

Agron turned his head to press his lips to the Syrian's palm. He felt the roughening skin from the other man's effort to learn the sword fighting ways of the Gladiator and closed his eyes against mixed sentiment within him.

Had Spartacus not freed the body slave and taken him on to train then Nasir would not be in his presently dire circumstance, but any other course of action would have seen the Syrian dead by other means. Agron himself would have consigned Nasir to death after the slave made attempt upoon Spartacus's life; a sin far more grievous than the lie told to begin their current series of unfortunate incidents. In that rarest of instances, the German had sided with Crixus and the only way to see all errors righted in any measure was to get the fucking Gaul back.

"He's not wrong," Naevia said quietly from the shadows. "Your thoughts carry great weight and can be felt by any in this chamber."

He didn't look up as he sensed her approaching them, but he did carefully place Nasir's fallen arm back upon the slab, tucking it under that covers that kept the injured man from growing overly cold. Agron wanted to tell her of Spartacus's plan, but he held his tongue.

"His fever is broken."

His eyes darted up to meet hers in the flickering light of a single torch in the room. She smiled at him, wistful in the happiness she wanted to express with the words. Her thoughts were as weighted as his own and Agron found his tongue loosened by her pain.

She stared at him in disbelief at words spoken and fled to seek out Spartacus for confirmation of the plan. Before rising to follow her and see to the beginning of the arduous day ahead, Agron leant forward to press his forehead against Nasir's head.

"I will make this right for us," he vowed to unconscious ear.

After a brush of lips over brow still clammy from recent fevered sweat, he reluctantly left Nasir's beside. Set on course to what he finally saw to be right, Agron rushed the others to task in waking to prepare for their mission.

With preparations nearly completed and all readied for the chore they had agreed to undertake no matter misgiving, Agron iwas surprised yet somehow unsurprised to hear an increasingly familiar voice speak intent to join the mission.

"I would have you rest yet a while longer," Spartacus decreed while Agron assured himself of the Syrian's presence.

He had left the man passed out from his injury, weakened by the pain and fever recently passed. Yet there he stood, wavering ever so slightly in defiance of his wound to claim his place as fighter amongst them.

Agron felt the pulse of blood pumping through the neck he stroked; relished the tickle of soft black hair over his wrist and forearm. The form was too warm and solid to be a specter of Nasir and the German was overjoyed at the progress of the man's recovery.

"This time you stay and I go," he said to the Syrian, stilling the strokes of his hand to firmly clasp the back of Nasir's head.

Dark eyes asked questions that time would not allow answered just then, so Agron put as much as he could into a single kiss to convey intent upon return. Nasir did not reject the intimacy, but the German could see his confusion and uncertainty. He wanted to linger over the moment; to give voice to thought and feeling until the other man kissed him back.

"We must move," Spartacus ordered, putting end to the moment.

The reluctance he felt at leaving Nasir was unlike anything he had felt before in his life and he wished again for his brother to share confidence with.

If the Gods saw fit to see them together again, once the drama of Crixus and Naevia was brought to conclusion, Agron vowed he would take action to insure Nasit never looked upon him again with any kind of doubt in those brown eyes.


End file.
